Promises We Keep

4

 MARCUS POV

I didn't really get any sleep last night and it looks like this time isn't going to be any different. I clench the sides of my long sleeve shirt bringing the sleeves down to my wrists. I'm glad I decided to wear this. It will keep me a little warm if there is a big chill tonight. I slowly open my heavy eyes to look out the window. Great. He is going the wrong way.

"Ken, you know-"

"It's Kenti. Not, Ken," he corrects, eyes focused on the intersection ahead.

I roll my eyes. "Ken-ti," I emphasize. "You are going the wrong way. The underpass is back that way," I say pointing behind us.

"We are going to my house," he says, not looking at me.

"Why?"

"Hey, if you want to sleep on the streets when the weather says it would rain later than be my guest," he says. He brushes his hair out of his eyes roughly and squeezes the steering wheel. He's not irritated like he's trying to make me believe he is, I think. I watch his eyes. They are turned slightly away from me as if he is trying hard to avoid my gaze. Is that nervousness?

"You aren't a serial killer are you," I ask, repeating his previous question.

"Very funny. Look dude, I can just take you home if you want. I just don't think you should sleep on the streets tonight."

I frown. Why does he care what happens to me? I sigh as I feel the familiar queasy feeling enter my stomach. He's pitying me. Of course. Poor Marcus with his crazy mom and his crazy issues, sleeping outside making him even more pathetically pitiful. I clench my fists. "Pull over," I say through gritted teeth.

He turns sharply towards me, eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"Pull over and let me out," I say again looking out the window at my surroundings. We are in a neighborhood with fancy condos. It's going to take even longer to get to the underpass now. Is the universe actually plotting against me? I turn back towards Ken once I notice that he hasn't slowed down.

I grip his shoulder and he flinches. It's strong under my hand, which isn't surprising because the kid is far from small. He is a little taller than me. "Pull over. Now." I say squeezing harder.

He clenches his jaw and shrugs my hand off. "No."

No? I go to grab the steering wheel but he turns into a large driveway next to a big brick house. He turns off the car and looks at me. His eyes are mad but start to soften as they trace my face. I frown again practically feeling the pity seep out of him. "I'm not pitying you, Marcus," he says softly.

"Did I say you were?" I say my voice like steel. I don't need help or pity, especially from some rich weirdo like him.

"You didn't have to tell me. Your face said it all."

I scoff. "Take me to the underpass."

"No. Now get out of the car," he says, opening the car door.

He's starting to remind me of Grace. "Why are you doing this?" I ask.

He turns back and looks at me, his brown eyes like the sun blazing on desert sand. "I don't know," he shrugs.

He doesn't know? What type of crap answer is that? 

Before I can ask he is already out of the car and walking up towards the front door. I quickly get out and he locks the door, the beep loud in the quiet neighborhood street. I look up at his house. It's three stories tall covered in dark red and brown bricks. He has a large green lawn with a long walk way that reaches down to the street. On the right side of the lawn is a large tree with a bench swing. The windows are framed on each side with barn style shutters and bright flowers line the ledge. I can practically smell the money coming off of the place. I glance down at my bloody shirt and finger the small hole at the end of it. My eyes travel down my worn jeans to my converse that are a few wears away from talking back to me. You definitely don't belong here, Marcus.